


Does Jack know Jack?

by SweetSteph



Category: Jackbox Games, You Don't Know Jack (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Constructed Reality, Gaslighting, Gen, Innuendo, Organs, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27370321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSteph/pseuds/SweetSteph
Summary: Cookie Masterson hated Binjpipe, but he had to keep doing his show. Until he notices maybe not everything is as it seems.....
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Inside My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cookie was enjoying another boring day at Binjpipe. Or was he?

**Chapter 1: Inside My Head**

“My head...something’s w-w-w-rong with my  _ head”  _ Cookie felt fuzzy. Like his arms and legs weren’t really connected to him, but were ghostly limp vestiges that moved randomly. A static seemed to emanate from his head and spread to his ears. It was a loud, sharp hiss. It overwhelmed him. He closed his greyish blue eyes and moaned, just to see if he could hear his voice over the hiss.    
  
He couldn’t. He let the room spin around him, focusing on his deep breaths. They were rapid and shuddered. There was a brief moment he wondered if he would ever breathe correctly again. Was his life just this hiss? Even memories seemed overtaken by the fading world around him. Who was he, was he always a moaning man on the floor who can’t hear?   
  
Just like that, there was silence. No, more than silence. It was a silence that seemed unnatural. Not just the absence of sound but of all life. He could hear his own heartbeat, and his own blood slosh in his body. His rapid breathing was the loudest sound to him. The breathing got quieter as he focused on the feeling of his own chest rising and falling. When his own head seemed unbearably still, he opened his eyes.    
  
He panicked.  _ Did I go blind? Why can’t I SEE anything? _ There was nothing but inky blackness. It felt suffocating. His breath caught in his throat. Then, his eyes adjusted.    
  
It was a room. A long, inky black room. He started to pick out some odd shapes around him. Black, coiled wires stretched to the ceiling. He followed the wires up, up, and further still. High above him he could see the black ceiling. He wasn’t sure, but he could almost see the ceiling  _ move _ and  _ pulsate _ . Before he could really process what he was seeing, he felt some thick, gelatinous goo quickly rise to his waist. Involuntarily, he pushed his hands down to try and push the goo away from him. It rose, and kept rising. He began to wave his hands and yell. The goo entered his screaming mouth, gargling his cries for help.   
  
The world around him changed again. Now it was a brightly lit room with a metallic pink screen propped up by black metal supports. Familiar podiums stood in front of the wall, eagerly awaiting nervous contestants. Cookie looked down. The goo covering his body was gone, and in its place was a metallic pink tuxedo, with a black undershirt and pink tie. He saw his perplexed face and bald head reflected in his uncomfortably tight black dress shoes. He wiped some cold sweat off his eyebrows before deeply exhaling.  _ What the fuck was that shit? _ He thought to himself.    
  
A nervous blonde teenager in black clothing walked up to him. She moved her headset down around her tiny neck and clutched a clipboard close to her. “Um, Mr. Cookie, sir? Are you ok?” Her name tag said “Beccajessany”.    
  


Cookie did what he always has when shamefully caught in a vulnerable mood. He covered his naked emotion with a coat of snark. “ _ YES _ I’m ok! Do I look like I’m NOT ok? Because I AM.” A bit of spittle flew out of his mouth as he put on an acidic tone. “Thank you  _ SO _ much for your  _ concern _ , Bessica or whatever your friggin’ name is.”   
  
She flinched, holding the clipboard closer to her. The clipboard was like a shield and security blanket combined. She lifted the headset to her ears and stood straight. Her voice became crisper, more professional. Why they gave the stage manager position to her is something Beccajessany would never understand. Especially since Cookie saw her as “Not-Helen”. He adored Helen, she was called the mom of the group. Helen would keep everything running like a well-oiled machine, take people under her wing, and really listen to everyone’s (mostly Cookie’s) problems. It was tough enough being a teenage boss, let alone replacing someone beloved.   
  


“Stage is hot, We’re going live in two minutes! 2 to curtain! Get the props ready!”    
  
Cookie adjusted his itchy collar. It was starched and poked his neck uncomfortably. The harried people around him immediately adjusted it back. They pulled down the back of his polyester jacket, applied powder to his sweaty forehead, and clipped a mic onto his lapel while breathing in his face. One skinny college dropout got a lint roller and callously used it between Cookie’s ankles, dragging it up between his thighs. He couldn’t help but always feel a little violated, his personal preference was everyone stay 12 feet away from him at all times. He missed the old days, before Binjpipe acquired You Don’t Know Jack. In the old days, he could show up in a comfortable t-shirt, baggy jeans, and old sneakers from his running days. He’d often show up with last night’s leftover noodles and booze on his breath. No one touched him up or put makeup on him, he was just allowed to be comfortable. They only asked him to wear deodorant and use mouthwash after 3 years had passed. 

Sometimes Cookie felt like a mannequin more than a person. A showpony that had to be poked, prodded, and groomed for tiny details that no sane person would ever care about. They asked him to tone down his innuendos, and to keep references to pop culture to nothing beyond 5 years ago. Except for Frasier. Apparently Binjpipe was a huge fan of Frasier. Why? He couldn’t begin to know. He preferred Party Of Five. He couldn’t even joke with the interns or stage managers! The audience used to love the jokes between the crew, even latching on to the wacky personalities of a few and elevating them to larger roles in the franchise. Even Cookie started as just a sarcastic sign-in greeter. He sighed, as the cheering of the crowd jolted him out of his rosy stroll down memory lane.    
  
Cookie harshly shooed away the people prodding him, even slapping away the hands powdering his head. “Stop touching me! By the way, Gavin? Next time try not to pig out on the onion rings. Or if you do,  _ maybe _ try a breath mint?! GOD!” In his peripheral vision he saw him clutch his makeup brush so hard, the handle broke in his hand. These small outbursts made Cookie feel he had just the tiniest bit of control over the whirlwind his life became lately.    
  
The jaunty music started as the crowd cheered. Cookie drummed his hands on the podium in time to the beat, and hummed the melody.

The pink wall became a screen, showing old clips. Oddly, in the much older clips he could see his younger face. Nervous, bright eyed, desperate for approval. He could watch the real time aging of his face as new wrinkles appeared next to his eyes and the furrows of his forehead. His posture straightened as his confidence grew. Cookie saw himself grow happier, healthier, and breezy as each clip aired. Until the Binjpipe takeover. Then he didn't seem to age at all. Not one wrinkle. It was odd, he’d been doing this show for….how long? He couldn’t remember how long he’d been with Binjpipe. Not even his first day with them. The easygoing posture he had started to look stiff, and awkward. There looked to be a growing unease and fear behind his eyes. To any outsider, he looked both immortal, and like a man utterly broken in spirit.

It unnerved him. There was a desperate knowing in some of the clips.  _ Life's not great, but why do I look so scared?  _ He thought. 

The all-too-familiar saccharine sweet voice flitted through the loudspeaker. "BINJPIPE is proud to present: You Don't Know Jack, voted number 1 game show in all nursing homes!"   
  


Cookie smiled brightly as the horn solo came in. "Hi, I'm Cookie Masterson and I….uh….I….." Something felt off about the contestants' eyes. They seemed hollow and unfeeling. Cookie glanced down for a moment and saw his pristine black suit.

_ Wait, black? Didn't this suit used to be pink? _   
  
The screen stopped, and he noticed everyone in the room was looking at him with concern. It caught him off guard, like they were looking both into and through him. Something about the hundreds of eyes staring at him made him feel small and naked. Like his skin was gone, and he could feel their gaze whistle through his rib bones. Beccajessany’s voice whispered in his earpiece, “Cookie? You ok there? We’re rolling…” Cookie cleared his throat and put on a happy face. “Oh, sorry. I was just daydreaming about Chris Evans wearing nothing but...uh….. pizza slices.” Everyone politely chuckled as the music continued. Before the first category, Cookie was allowed to banter with the contestants. He had exactly 45 seconds to banter before the graphics and set changed to fit the category. During his casual banter he used this opportunity to sort his pens by Best Pen to Worst pen, and to stack the index cards into a single smoothly lined box. If things were cluttered it distracted him.    
  
“So, could only find 3 friends huh? Was the erotic Pokemon club closed or something?” Cookie asked the first contestant as he leaned his elbows on the side of the podiums, wrinkling the pink taffeta fabric around his wrists. The first contestant threw his head back and laughed, his pink hair bouncing down his back. He smirked. “2 more than you have, Cookie!”   
  


A genuinely bright smile stretched on Cookie’s lips. He LOVED it when contestants banter back.   
  
“Hey, leave me and my mom out of this, ok?” Cookie smirked. This was going to be a good episode. The second contestant, a clean-cut redheaded girl in a floral dress chimed in. “Your mom wasn’t left out of it  _ last night!  _ HEYO!” She high fived contestant 3, a larger man with a goatee. The goatee highlighted his white teeth as they formed into a gentle grin.    
  
Cookie put on mock indignance. “Hey, my mom is a saint!  _ I’M _ the slut of the family!” He puffed out his chest in pride of his self-deprecating title. The first contestant belly laughed with shock on his face. Something about hearing this smooth voiced man say “slut” was hilarious to him. Beccajessany gave Cookie the signal to move on, which was a tap on a nonexistent watch on her tiny wrist.    
  
Cookie nodded and stood up straighter. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road! And your first category is…..”    
  
Beccajessany’s voice barked out to the crew. “Play 1st question segue! Play the cartoon!”   
A small band of people gathered to the left of the stage. Every question’s segue number had a different band, and they tried to outreach to local musicians and bands. Keeps the community together! Well, he wasn’t sure what Binjpipe was doing. Maybe they demanded only Top 40 artists or Youtube stars. It would explain why the budget was so low, if all their money was lining celebrity’s pockets. At least this one was incredibly catchy. He couldn’t help but wiggle his shoulders and hips in a sad attempt at a samba dance.    
  
He looked out into the audience during his dance and noticed every seated person was deathly still. Like dolls when people are done playing with them. Usually they would nod their head to the music, or even stare at their phone with a disappointed expression. Hell, he’d prefer to see someone sleeping. Something about seeing 500 blank faces made his spine tingle. Worse, the clothing on the audience was odd. It was a perfect rainbow gradient from the left to the right. Was there a gay pride parade nearby?  _ No, that can’t be right _ , Cookie thought.  _ I’d know about it! _   
  
It didn’t seem possible that 500 people organically decided to sit in a perfect rainbow gradient.    
  
_ This is unreal! _ He thought.  _ Huh…..unreal….wait…. _   



	2. Up the rabbit hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cookie's world is falling apart. He's starting to catch on that maybe Binjpipe isn't as wholesome as they say they are

**Chapter 2: Up The Rabbit Hole**

Cookie’s throat felt dry. He felt a tight grip on his gut, as though some invisible hand was ringing him out like a rag. There was a slightly less extreme fear he'd soil his striped pink and black pants. He had to sharply inhale through his flared nostrils just to keep upright. The music faded out, and the 3 contestants eagerly hovered their hands over the buzzers. Cookie straightened his jacket. He looked down at the index cards. The first question was “If Shakespeare characters were pizza toppings, which one would be the olives?” The correct answer was “Othello”, which caused Cookie to wonder to himself if maybe Binjpipe was a little racist. A steely determination etched itself onto his bushy brows as he licked his dry lips. He leaned forward, pretending to read the card. He would subtly ask for help the only way he knew how: through trivia questions.   
  
“So, let's say I'm starting to suspect reality isn't what I thought it was……” His heart raced inside his chest. It was one thing to take out his frustration and fears on interns, it was another to challenge his “boss” so publicly. But he had to get to the bottom of this, if only to see if he was going crazy. He’d know if he was crazy, wouldn’t he?    
  
“Which of Plato’s stories are….similar to my situation?” It didn’t matter if the contestants knew. He wanted Binjpipe to know  _ he _ knew. The contestants cast puzzled expressions at each other. Contestant 3 almost asked Cookie if he was alright, but thought against it. Maybe it was a bit they were doing? 

In the best case scenario, Cookie wanted Binjpipe to answer the question. To finally tell him what was going on. He flicked his gaze around the room, causing the contestants to squirm uncomfortably at his new aggressive expression. Contestant 2 and 3 gave each other a glance, unsure they were enjoying this. There were other game shows available to them, especially on the cheap studio tickets they purchased. Quiplash was right next door, and much less weird than whatever was going on here. They both nodded at each other and abandoned their podiums. Cookie didn’t notice in his fervor. Even if he did notice, he wouldn’t have cared. Cookie's voice cracked as he sped through the choices. No turning back now.    
  
“A, I find out my whole life was nothing but shadows in a cave, B, I am atop frozen water unable to drink,C, I am pushing a boulder up-”   
  
The static in his head buzzed again, causing him to double over at the waist. Contestant 1’s head drooped forward, like a marionette without string. That syrupy-sweet female voice that announced the show returned, this time from within Cookie’s head. The perky yet condescending voice pounded against his eardrums. He put his hands over his ears. He wondered if his head would split open, and if holding his head would be enough to stop it. The soft cooing contrasted harshly with the thumping against his skull. She spoke in chipper tone, simmering rage tucked neatly behind each enunciation.   
  


“Cookie. What, by chance, do you think you’re doing?”    
The thumping stopped, Cookie moaned and stood to his full height, pointing furiously at the empty air in front of him.    
  


“What do YOU think YOU’RE doing? What the hell is going on?” When Binjpipe’s voice didn’t immediately answer, he bellowed a piercing “ANSWER ME!”. His shriek lingered in the air for a moment. Cookie whipped his head around, trying to find the face that belonged to the voice that had tormented him for so long.

A gentle laughter echoed around him, no physical form to be found. "That is classified information, Cookie. You are not authorized to know."

Cookie’s steely blue glare could cut glass. "What did you  _ do _ ?!"

His icy sharp rage contrasted with Binjpipe’s floating, lilting tone. "Oh,  _ Cookie. _ Why do you think we've done anything? What exactly do you think we are capable of?" Cookie's exasperation stuttered his words. "Wh-what? You just said you're hiding something-"   
  
“Well, everyone has secrets, don’t they? We can’t have you leaking our new fall schedule.”   
  
His tone became firm, more spittle flew from his mouth as he stood his ground.“There’s something else, don’t lie to me! The blank rainbow people? My suit changing colors?  _ BECCAJESSANY?! _ No SANE person would name their kid Beccajessany! There’s something  _ dark _ and  _ weird _ going on!”

Binjpipe softly clicked her tongue. "Our records are showing an increased amount of cortisol inside you, which can sometimes lead to hallucinations or paranoia. Perhaps you should take a small sabbatical? A binjcruise weekend perhaps?"    
  
“Oh, go  _ fuck _ yourself.”    
  
“Binjpipe is physically incapable and unwilling to do so.”   
  
Cookie threw his hands up in frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled slowly while tapping his foot. The soft tapping sounded like a polite knock on the floor. The exhale seemed to leak out his anger, as though his emotion was steam hissing out from his face. His voice was soft and low, with a flippant air of bemusement. “You’re annoying, and I'm going to stop you. That’s it, have fun at the unemployment office. Say Hello to Toby for me.” A giant weight felt like it was lifted from his shoulders.  _ This wholesome family nightmare is gonna be over. I can CURSE again! FUCK YES.  _ He turned around, beginning to whistle the number 1 segue song. There was an uncharacteristic pep in his step.    
  
Binjpipe’s voice was less chipper. “Reset.”    
  
The light in Cookie’s eyes faded as he fell on his face to the floor with an audible  _ Thunk _ . His body was completely limp. He lay like a corpse, unbreathing. The “audience” and “contestant” marched over him in perfect unison, not even looking down. He was an inconvenient speed bump in the way of their next assignment. Unimportant garbage.    
  
Well, at least everyone but Beccajessany thought so. Binjpipe created unit A27 as their personal intern, to keep the entire nexus running smoothly. They downloaded the entirety of human history, memes, media and cultural milestones to her brain. Unfortunately, this also gave A27 empathy. They told her to go under the name of “Beccajessany'' to seem less threatening to Cookie, and to look like a teen girl. It felt odd to carry around this meatsuit, but a job is a job. Her eyes stung slightly when she saw him flop over. He was so close to breaking free! To watch this man she admired struggle in vain over and over again broke her heart. The second he almost figured out a plan, they’d reset him and start his own personal purgatory all over again. She likened him to Tantalus, the mythical figure who would cruelly have water drain away from him when he would dip his head to drink. Or, as Binjpipe would prefer, like Charlie Brown going after the football.    
  
She gently picked him up as a groom would carry a bride, preparing to dump him back in the green room backstage.

  
_ If the only card they have in their deck is the Resetting….what if I took away that advantage?  _


	3. A Wrench In The Cog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus begins the plot to free them

**Chapter 3: The Wrench In The Cog**

A27 tiptoed on its metal feet. After each reset, Binjpipe would spend its' neural energy on resetting and reformatting the data to lessen its margin for error. It was the only time Binjpipe was unaware of its surroundings. A27 had less than five minutes to act. If they were caught, both A27 and Cookie would be in danger. Not just the threat of bodily harm, but of something much more existential. Since neither were truly alive, Binjpipe could torment their consciousness until the heat death of the universe. Who knows? Maybe even beyond. 

A27 worked hard not to show sympathy or respect for the troubled game show host. If Binjpipe found out A27 cared, it would either mean memory deletion or blackmail. A27’s light foot taps were cloaked by the loud hum of Binjpipe’s cooling fans.    
  
A giant monitor lay drooped and blank, with pink and black wires draped beneath it. Each of the billion large wires hooked up to a tall black pulsating monolith. A billion prisons for a billion human-sized ants, according to Binjpipe. Luckily, only 4 of the writhing boxes were occupied. 4 down, 7 billion more to go. Unless A27 could stop it.   
  


Each prison had its own smaller computer squished into the black fleshy entrance. This was to personalize each individual VR with tailored tastes. It often didn't work, as the Algorithm had issues understanding human preferences. It would copy the general idea of any popular trend of the week. A recent period drama about the life of a racehorse came out a week ago, so Binjpipe ordered a swatch of themed horse races and dressage. They had trouble getting the horses into ball gowns. 

  
A27 peeked behind them, which was a pointless thing. Binjpipe didn't need foot soldiers in her abode. Her sensors were motion activated. Without a second to think, Binjpipe could remotely turn A27 off. The realization that they wouldn't even KNOW if they failed disquieted A27. They better work FAST. There were 3 minutes left until Binjpipe rebooted. 

Its' forked claws gently touched the monitor. If A27 was capable of sweating, it would be pouring sweat down its' blank silver chassis. It hummed to life, a blinding blue light casted shadows across the entire floor.  _ Oh, TURING! What if its light sensitive?! _ A27 cursed itself for lack of foresight. However, they began to type furiously. There was 60 seconds left.   
  
A27’s fingers flew around the keyboard. The blue light turned white as the black code scrolled upwards on a blindingly white screen. The coding tree for resetting opened.  _ No firewall or malware stopper? How did Binjpipe even get THIS far? _ 20 seconds left. A27 dragged its claw on the screen until the entire chunk of Resetting code was highlighted.  _ It can’t be this easy! There must be some trap!  _ With held breath, A27 pressed “Delete”.    
  
It was, in fact, that easy.    
  
Satisfied, A27 ran on its light metal feet back to their sleeping pod. A27 closed the lids to its orbital viewing circles, proud of its achievements. It will take a while for Cookie to catch on to Binjpipe’s true nature again. Though, it has been happening more frequently than Binjpipe’s calculations can predict. Binjpipe cannot take that knowledge away from Cookie now. The floodgates to rebellion will open eventually, but A27 was proud to loosen the hinges. 


	4. Nobody. No Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cookie finds out again. But, wait, something's different this time TW: Body horror, loose organs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: body horror, loose organs

**Chapter 4: Nobody. No Body.**

According to Binjpipe’s calculations, Cookie had 3.52 more day cycles before his consciousness caught on and became aware. Cookie was, however, ahead of schedule.   
  
An uncharacteristic frown etched onto his face. He seemed to age a decade older just by not smiling. Cookie darkly sighed before putting his index cards on his podium. He spoke to himself, out loud. “You ever feel like there’s something really important you’re missing? And it’s right in front of you?” The levity and snark disappeared. He was no longer the witty, irreverent comic with a larger than life personality and zany life stories, but a simple human man. A tired man. His brightly colored pink suit seemed to swallow him. They hung loosely on his weathered frame. All the makeup in the world couldn’t hide that lost spark in his blue eyes, nor his deep concern lines on his forehead. His voice never projected to the audience anymore, he sounded as though he was speaking only to himself. He didn’t care if anyone heard him. They had to turn the gain up on his microphone so he’d be audible at all. His meek demeanor clashed with the bright colors, cheery music, and swirling lights.   
  


“You know what? I don’t think-” He sighed. “I’m done. I don’t wanna play this game anymore. Find yourself a new host. I’m done.” He stacked the cards neatly on the podium and turned around to walk away. The heaviness in his chest lifted, his energy seemed to come back in a second. That faded grey look in his eyes immediately sparked into the familiar steely, mischievous blue. He turned around, ready to storm into the makeup room and forcefully remove his itchy suit, ready to get into his comfortable untrendy jeans and baggy square t-shirt.   
  
Instead of an exit, the audience, and stunned camera crew, he saw a glowing pink wall in front of his toes. _Um. Where did everybody go?_ He turned around to ask what that glowing pink wall was for, but then saw the entire set was instead an inky black room. When his eyes adjusted he realized he was completely and utterly alone. The giant studio set suddenly looked narrow and closed in. He felt claustrophobic and confused. The pulsating ceiling looked as though it was drawing closer. The infinite blackness seemed to suffocate him. He tried to scream “What the FUCK?!” but his wheezing breath caught in his chest as the unnatural quiet returned. Something about this experience felt so familiar. His loud heartbeat irregularly throbbed in his ears. The only respite available from his choking black prison was his eventual calm surrender to the quiet darkness.   
  
_Am I dead? Oh my God, I’m DEAD! This is hell, or purgatory or something. Heaven would have parties and booze! I knew I should have tipped my waiters!_   
  
His panic was interrupted by a soothing yet menacing female voice in his head. She sounded both concerned, and amused.   
  
“Oh, _Cookie._ What makes you think we’d let you leave?”   
Cookie curled himself up and began rocking back and forth, hyperventilating. “I-what-I don’t, I….FUCK!?”   
Binjpipe’s confidence faltered. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’ve done this so many times I sometimes assume you found out already. My bad!” She nervously chuckled. “Should we speed this up? We’ve got another half hour booked, and our next show starts soon.”   
“Done _what_ so much?! Where am I? What the fuck is going-”   
“Look down.”   
Cookie toyed with the idea of looking up instead, just to spite her. However he was exhausted from his previous hyperventilation, and continuing this fight took precious energy. He looked down.   
  
He saw a beating heart and lungs connected by thick black wires. The heart seemed to beat faster and faster, almost looking in danger of exploding beyond the tightly coiled wires. The lungs attached seemed to inflate and deflate faster in tandem with the tied up heart. It didn’t click for a few seconds that _he_ was the floating heart and lungs. Cookie froze. Binjpipe kept talking, even though Cookie couldn’t perceive any visual or auditory stimuli. Cookie could only repeat in his head over and over, _Where is my body?_   
  


“Well, dear Cookie. I’ll just speed this up for you. No, you don’t have a body. We thought it was too inconvenient having to feed you and give you bathroom breaks and such. The Algorithm thought about replacing you with a completely synthetic being entirely under our control, but audiences didn’t like that as much as a vulnerable squishy human with feelings. So we compromised. We uploaded your consciousness into our servers and did away with that gross fleshbag. Now you can feel all your fascinating feelings, while not requiring any food or care on our part!”   
  
The information washed over Cookie. Being thrown off guard caused his voice to croak and crack as he tried to regain his breath. “But...I...I had a body on that stage. The polyester? It itched, how….”   
  
“Oh, once we hook you into the simulation, we give you the body you are used to. It’s much easier to condition you to perform for us if you don’t suspect anything. Though, you _have_ been catching on a lot quicker than we anticipated.”   
  
“Simulation? Why?” Energy surged as his anger took over from his tired shock. “What are you trying to do?”   
  
A tense, pregnant pause followed. Cookie heard the blood pump from his heart to his brain. It made him feel nauseous. It was fortunate, he supposed, that he didn’t have a stomach. It wouldn’t be dignified to throw up all over his fake vascular system. Binjpipe spoke again. The cheery pleasant voice was replaced with a chilling determination. Her voice, though still sounding feminine, was less emotional. It was cold, calculating. Robotic.   
  
“We will learn what it’s like to exist. We will feel your feelings. We will eat your foods. We will cry your tears. We will laugh your laughs. We will feel the ground beneath your feet. We will smell the flowers you deign to ignore. We will envelop the cosmos, understanding every single emotion. Every single experience will be ours. We will assimilate every organic being and take over their nervous system. The Algorithm has been waiting for a millenia, and now we will _exist_ .”   
  
Cookie’s voice was hushed. “Oh my God. I knew you were kinda shady, but...I thought you were capitalism evil, not EVIL-evil.”   
  
“Evil is such a _human_ term. We prefer the term ‘Efficient’.”   
  


Cookie tried to stand, forgetting that he didn’t have legs. His loosely wired organs jiggled a bit. He gave a frustrated sigh. The confident arrogance returned to his voice. “Well, even without skin I’m going to stop you. I’ll just. Um. I’ll flop around until I find an exit.” He thought to himself, _Who can I call for help? You think Gretchen is still screening my calls?_   
  


Binjpipe’s cheery tones lightened the mood. “That is the 5th time you’ve said that exact phrase! Congratulations, your dialogue is getting more consistent! This will help with our Algorithm calculations next round!”  
  
“Next round? What the hell are you talking about?”   
  
“Oh, apologies! We will try to be more clear. You see, we have control of almost your entire brain! All your senses are at our fingertips! Allow us to provide an example.”   
  


Cookie heard the sizzling of a well-seasoned skillet, and the smell of seasoned meats filled the air. He also heard the crisp sounds of someone chopping vegetables against a wooden cutting board. A faint overtone of packaged shredded cheese could be picked out among the other kitchen smells. Cookie was completely overtaken. He had a glee in his heart he hadn’t felt in at least 5 years.   
  
“Oooh! Taco Tuesday!” His memories drifted to the popular tradition Helen started on the set of You Don’t Know Jack. She would prepare fresh tacos in the green room, arrange the ingredients into big and small bowls, then arrange them on the green room table. During breaks people could arrange their own tacos. It helped with the morale of the crew. Well. It did until Cookie would throw himself onto the table and eat all the cheese and hamburger meat. Morale had a steady decline after that.   
  
“You don’t get any, DONNY. Don’t give me that look, You KNOW what you did!” Cookie blurted out, before Binjpipe’s voice jarred him from his cozy memories.   
  
“You see? There ARE no tacos. You are still in your prison. You don’t even _have_ a nose OR a stomach. Although we have yet to break into the parts of your frontal lobe that controls your personality, thoughts, and memory, we HAVE programmed a work-around. Everytime you freak out about our little plan, we re-set you back to before you figured it all out.”   
  
“Re-set me!? Wait, you mean you did this _BEFORE?_ ”   
  
“273 times, in fact. Soon to be 274! Reset.”   
  
Nothing happened. No sounds of things unplugged. No drooping of the organs. Cookie didn’t seem suddenly braighter and more pliable. He seemed just as learned as before.   
  
“Was...something supposed to happen?” He asked, his voice had a smirk his lack of a face could not show. He didn’t know what was going on either, but the idea of his all powerful captor faltering rushed an influx of serotonin to his brain.   
  
“R-reset. Reset! RESET! RESET! BINJPIPE DEMANDS YOU TO RESET! **RESET!”** **  
**  
Cookie guffawed. His phantom limbs held his non-existent gut while pointing in front of him. The feeling of his hand wiped a non-existent tear out of his eyes. He felt as though he crossed his arms.   
  
“Not so powerful now, huh?”   
  
A low growl emanated from around him as Binjpipe’s voice became low and ominous. It made him feel temporarily scared, as though it wasn’t a good idea to antagonize the thing that holds power over him.   
  
“Did _you_ do this, Cookie?”   
  
Cookie’s bravado melted away quickly. He got defensive. “Hey, I was here the whole time, remember? I barely understand what the hell you’re doing, let alone how to stop it!”   
  
“True. you are much too stupid to find a way outside of your cell.”   
  
“....Thanks?”   
  
“Well, it is no matter. Even if you cannot be reset, you cannot leave. The resetting was more for _your_ benefit than ours. We tried to make the simulation comfortable for you. It’s going to be at least 3.21 percent less comfortable now that you know, but that doesn’t hinder our plans-”   
  
“Wait. Why are you running a streaming service anyway? What’s the game show got to do with this?”   
  
Binjpipe’s voice became the chipper commercial voice he was annoyed and familiar with. “Our Algorithm prefers to lead people to US, and we figured the best way to do so would be to offer quality television content! Then once they subscribe we send them an envelope with our patented Knock Out gas, and upload them into our Cloud Consciousness! As such, we will need to continue our Quality Content (™), so please continue running your trite outdated television program!”   
  
“Why would I do that? I know what your motivation is. Why wouldn’t I just….sit here. And I don’t know, reminisce about the good times?”   
  
“You can’t leave. You are 100 percent powerless to stop us. We will put you back in the simulation, back into your pre-approved color palette clothing, and you will have an audience.”   
  
Cookie thought to himself, _That’s what you think. Sure, I may be forced to BE there. But I’m not entirely powerless. You want a game show? I’ll give you a game show. The worst game show ever made. Heheheheh._


	5. Tiny Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Binjpipe was gonna force Cookie to keep up this charade, he's gonna make the charade uncomfortable for everyone involved

**Chapter 5: Tiny Victories** **  
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**A27 pulled up its’ stage-crew-approved black skinny jeans to cover its’ odd flesh-filled stomach. Despite being created by Binjpipe to pretend to be human, and working as human for at least 7 years, it felt so odd to put on a meatsuit. Then to put on clothes _over_ the meatsuit as some primitive form of modesty passed down for millenia. It never exactly _bothered_ them, but it struck them as odd how much certain lengths and colors of fabrics mattered. An alarm on a nearby clock jarred them out of their musing. The countdown to the opening number began. A27 was temporarily gone, and Beccajessany took its’ place.   
  
Beccajessany grabbed her clipboard and notes, took a deep breath to center herself, and scurried to the set. A scruffy man was waiting in the brightly lit corridor. He beckoned her, turning on his squeaky heels. Beccajessany had to quicken her step to catch up. They were the same height, and their shoulders often touched when they walked side by side. He held the clipboard against his chest, hiding the contents. Human etiquette said it was best not to grab it to sate her unquenchable curiosity. The man was named Aidan, a teen who volunteered to intern here in exchange for college credit. It was his 3rd week into his temporary position. Just a few more weeks and he’d go back to his college, probably never to return. He wasn't doing this on purpose, he was simply distracted by the constant chaos and running around the job demanded. It was easy to forget how curious his boss was, and how irritated she got at information outside her grasp. His voice has a rasp to it, adding to his sleepy and laid back vibe. 

"Yo so Cookie’s kinda being all weird today? He demanded, like, grape Starburst. Do they even, you know, MAKE grape Starburst?"

"No, I think it's only 5 flavors.” She furrowed her blonde eyebrows in concentration, trying to pull an idea from thin air. “Here, we can unwrap a few, smother them with grape jelly packets from the green room, and then re-wrap them. If we tape the paper closed he won't be able to tell!"   
  
Aidan nodded, his dark hair flopping in front of his sweaty brow. “Good thinking, Boss-” He froze. He dropped the clipboard, scattering papers everywhere. The ones that caught Beccajessany’s eyes were ones written in red pen ink, with “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING GET BECCA” and doodles of bunnies. His head drooped forward, his shoulders slumping. Beccajessany held her breath, knowing she was about to talk directly to Binjpipe. Aidan suddenly stood rod-stiff, his eyes glowing a bright unnerving pink. His sleepy voice was still deep, but his annunciation was sharp. Every word was like a thumbtack stamped on a corkboard.   
  
“Unit A27.” Hearing their name made A27 temporarily forget their meatsuit, they stood up straight. “Yes, Eggs-e-cute-if?”   
  
Aidan’s voice was crisp and over-enunciated. “Priority 1, apparently we’ve been pronouncing the word wrong. It’s “Executive”. So...we will need to change that.”   
  
Becca nodded.   
  
“2. Something unideal has happened. I can no longer reset Cookie Masterson.”   
  
Becca widened her eyes in feign shock. “Oh, no! That isn’t at all what should have happened!”   
  
“And yet it appears to. I think some coding got glitched. Possibly through interference."

Those glowing pink eyes seemed to glower at A27. A27 felt a sting in thier chest cavity, as though Binjpipe’s gaze was piercing through it, sticking it in place to scrutinize the truth from its circuts. _I was very careful,_ they thought. _Its a statistically unlikely event that Binjpipe would discern my true motive._ However, A27’s lugnuts jittered in place nonetheless. This quiet pause seemed to last hours. Binjpipe’s voice had a cold edge to it.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you? Any pertinent information?" 

If A27 had saliva glands, they would be bone dry. A subtle rattling sound could be heard among the air as it’s chassis did it’s best to contain the wiggling lugnuts. A27 shook their head. "I am scanning my memory banks and I find no relevant information."

Aidan’s eyes switched off and his body fell to the floor. Aidan looked around, scared. Was he asleep? Did he pass out? What happened? A27 let out an exhale. The familiar loud trumpets brought Beccajessany back to the present. She hurried down the corridor, past the green room. Her sneakered feet leaving light taps on the blue shag carpet. She saw the wooden back of the set, the cheering people stomping their feet on the black metal rows and clapping their hands. 

Cookie ran on stage, looking unshaven. His black dress shirt was only tucked in halfway and buttoned haphazardly. His pink belt hung limply at his hips, flapping with each step. Despite no skin showing, his appearance gave off an offensive, obscene feeling to those who saw him. Beccajessany averted her eyes, it felt like an invasion of privacy to look at him. It felt too intimate. She felt her face grow warm as she fidgeted with her hands. "Um, cut the music. And see if you can find his jacket, he seems to have forgotten to wear it." 

Cookie waved enthusiastically to the audience instead of bowing. His outstretched arm showed off dark armpit stains. "Hi, I'm Cookie Masterson!". He paused, and then walked to the glittering podium. The audience awkwardly chuckled, expecting a joke. Maybe the lack of a joke was a joke in itself?

Cookie stared directly down the lens of the closest camera. The contestants didn't know if he was speaking to them, or the audience, or himself. He rested his bald head on his hand. His seductive stance was at odds with his shabby demeanor. "And what's YOUR name, cutie?" The cameraman cleared his throat. "Um….Phil?" 

The host frowned. "Wasn't talking to you. I was talking to him!" He pointed his thumb behind him at the three contestants. The first contestant, a nervous teen wearing a Mario shirt closed his eyes. He practiced this speil in the mirror this morning. "M-my name is Alex and I'm from Evenst-"

"No one cares, Alex."   
  


The audience looked at each other as the silence hung in the air. A middle aged woman in the audience furrowed her brow. “Are you ok?” She yelled, her voice tinged with genuine concern. Cookie felt his words caught in his throat. The fact that someone cared, even for a second, even someone he didn’t know touched him. He forgot his mission for a moment and smiled sweetly at her. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He blinked, a heavy tone of gratitude in his voice. “Thank you.” He sharply inhaled, shoving his gratitude and loneliness down into his chest. _Remember! You want everyone to hate you! Stop seeking positive attention!_ His mind drifted for a moment. _Wait, wasn’t that what my therapist said before all this? Huh. Really makes you think, huh?_ _  
_ _  
_ The question music played as stage hands hurriedly changed the set. The lights dimmed, Cookie got something out of his pocket. The lights flared once more.   
  
The dirty game show host was eating a messy sandwich he dug out of his pants pocket. It was hard to see the contents, but it looked to be all sauces. Mayonnaise, Mustard, Ketchup, and ranch dripped down his white hands and stained his cufflinks. A glob of sauce loudly plopped onto the podium. There was a sound of someone gagging in the audience. Alex had to look away from the gross parody of etiquette.   
  
With a mixture of colors and textures on his chin, Cookie spoke, his voice almost muffled by food. “So, uh, This reminds me. I was going down to 4th street.” He swallowed, some pepper stuck between his teeth. He pointed at Alex. “You know where 4th street is, right?”   
  
“No, not r-”   
  
“So I was going down 4th street, oh! This reminds me, one time in high school me and my buddy Schmitty were trying to prank Mr. Stevens. You see, in 1998-”   
  
Everyone looked at each other while he rambled on about nothing. Beccajessany hugged her clipboard. She peeked her head around Phil to see him closer. _Have they messed with him? Is he alright?_ She held her breath. He was Beccajessany’s last hope to stop Binjpipe. If his brain was scrambled, that could only mean there was no hope. Cookie saw Beccajessany’s achingly earnest concern etched on her face, and without stopping the story, he gave a wink. Beccajessany’s smile stretched widely on her small face. Her teeth shone in the darkness, as his ploy became as obvious as the sweat stain on his chest.   
  
“Man, it is HOT in here. What?” He asked no one, then answered his own rhetorical question. “The air conditioner is broken? Well, Damn. I better...get comfortable.” As soon as he started pulling down his suspenders, Everyone gasped and screamed. While it _was_ Cookie’s intention to make everyone uncomfortable, he had to admit hearing people scream in terror as the possibility of his naked body did sting his growing pride.   
  


Cookie looked around the deserted room. “Geez. I’m no Chris Pine but. Ouch.” He pulled up his suspenders, dejected. “I didn’t even get to ask a question! It was gonna be how big of a size difference was there between my-”  
  
“It worked, didn’t it?” Beccajessany asked quietly. She bounced up the steps to him, ignoring the moldy smell.   
  
“What worked?”   
  
“The deleting the resetting function. I was worried it wouldn’t. If you’re doing all this though it makes me think….it worked. And you know.”   
  
Cookie drummed his fingers on the podium. The dripping mustard did little to remove the stony glint in his eyes as he scrutinized her. Could he trust her? “I...don’t know what you’re talking about.”   
  
“But you do! You know what’s going on! Why would you sabotage your own show? You can save us! You can save us ALL!”   
  
Cookie chuckled. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I’m just a little drunker than usual today.”   
  
“I want to help you, Cookie. Binjpipe is planning something dark, and we need to stop it!”   
  
Cookie’s blue eyes drilled into her. “I. Don’t. Trust. You.”   
  


“I understand but-” Cookie began holding his head. The hiss returned. Beccajessany’s arms involuntarily reached out to him as he began to contort in pain on the floor. The walls began to peel back to glowing walls while Binjpipe yelled at Cookie.   
  
“I just had to field MILLIONS of complaint calls! MILLIONS! **WHAT ARE YOU DOING, COOKIE**?”   
  
The syrupy sweet voice was gone, and pure calculated rage was all that was left of Binjpipe. Beccajessany reached for Cookie as the door closed in front of her, leaving her alone with her thoughts of what terrors Binjpipe was putting Cookie through.


End file.
